Unforgotten
by Glinda
Summary: 9Doc 1111 Remembering the fallen of another war to end all wars... postDalek


puissant PWISS-uhnt; PYOO-uh-suhnt; pyoo-ISS-uhnt, adjective:  
Powerful; strong; mighty; as, a puissant prince or empire. 

They leave Adam sleeping and acclimatising to their ship. She doesn't ask where they're going. She just holds tightly onto his hand. She can tell that it's London and that it's near her time, maybe 10 years either way, she can't be sure. She doesn't dare ask. He's got that look that she hates, the one that reminds her just how old and alien he is. She's quite sure if she hadn't decided to pop into the console room to check up on him before she went to bed he'd never have mentioned this little trip. Part of her wonders how many times he's gone off like this while she was asleep, that she's never known.

Lost in her own internal dialogue she is only marginally aware of what's going on around her. People are rushing everywhere, but there are flashes of red that catch her eye but between the speed of the passers-by and the way the Doctor's dragging her along she doesn't catch what they are. The scratchy voice of a busker catches her attention, a song she hasn't heard since childhood. The words aren't familiar but they bring up a memory. Of being in this area with her Gran as a child. And suddenly someone crashes into them and she looses grip on the Doctor's hand and she's lost him in the crowd. She stops among the jostling crowd and instinctively takes a different path through them. She finds what she hadn't realised she was looking for close by. A little blonde girl having Armistice Day explained to her by her Gran. Watching them she remembers the day so clearly. She'd never known anything about her great-grandfather before that day. He'd fought and survived. Only to die of tuberculosis about five years later. She'd known about Shell-Shock before that day but that had been the moment when she'd finally understood what it _really_ meant. When survival was crueller. The words still clear as day ten years on. "His body came back, but his mind never really left those fields...my mother said it was a blessing really." She'd felt closer to her Gran that day than she ever had before or since. It had been a moment of understanding. She'd never told her mother about it, never told anyone, because how could they possibly understand. It had been something that was just theirs. They'd both lost father's they'd never known and grown up with a myth of someone he'd never been. She remembers something else. There was a flower seller near-by. Selling_ real_ poppies. And she knows what she has to do.

Big Ben chimes 11 o'clock as she fights her way through the crowds that are slowing to a quieting stop. She understands now. The flower seller watches her approach and simply picks out a poppy for her. She searches in her pockets for change, suddenly fearful that the coins in her pocket will no longer be legal tender. The woman shakes her head and hands her the flower. She opens her mouth to protest only for a finger to be placed across her lips in a 'shushing' motion. She doesn't realise she's crying till she feels the old woman wipe the tears from her cheek. And she really is an old lady. Ancient could be applied and not feel cruel. The face is creased with wrinkles, and the eyes look like they've seen centuries roll by not just decades. There's something almost other-worldly about the flower seller – especially those eyes. Gesturing back towards the Doctor and the direction she ran from the old lady simply smiles enigmatically at Rose. Mouthing "thankyou" she hurries back towards him. Glancing down at the poppy in her hand she realises it's white, turning back to ask the woman she sees there's no one there. Just a grubby trestle table leaning against a wall.

She continues on her way, unnerved and suddenly afraid of not being able to find him in the crowd. But she does. He's surprisingly close. Standing completely still, isolated even in this crowd. The two minutes aren't quite up by the time she's by his side. She wishes there was something she could say or do to help but his grief is bigger than anything she can begin to comprehend. Even more out of reach than her Gran's grief when she was a child. So she does the only thing she can do in the circumstances. She slips her hand back into his. When he looks down at her, she hands him the poppy and when he takes it from her, he stares at her blankly for a long time. Then he smiles, and it's as though something shifts in his eyes and a tiny part of the shadow that lurks around him seems to lift and though it's far from one of his patented grins, she recognises him again. She smiles back and the Lutine bell rings from Lloyds of London marking the end of the silence and all around them people begin to move and talk again. There's nothing to be said so they keep their silence. Walking silently through the crowds back to where the TARDIS is parked, they only drop hands when he needs to fish in his pocket for the key Standing just behind their 'police box' a BBC reporter interviews someone from the Royal British Legion. The Doctor pauses as he unlocks the door as his words hit home, his knuckles going white around the key.

"This small yet significant individual and collective act is a rare moment when the nation can stand together and reflect upon the price of freedom."

Standing in the console room the space between them seems unsurmountable. She longs to say something, anything to break down the wall. A forgotten fragment of a long ago Remembrance service surfaces in her mind. She walks over to him, says simply, "At the going down of the Sun and in the morning we will remember them" before kissing him softly on the cheek and walking away into the depths of the TARDIS. A whispered "thankyou" follows her down the corridor and she knows that it was the right thing to say.


End file.
